[Location: Eastern Forest, beneath the Banyan Tree]
Having collapsed in defeat, Aarav crossed the River Duhkhagraha — not chasing a trial, but running from his own shame. The forest offers no guidance… only silence.
"क्षीणे पुण्ये मर्त्यलोकं विशन्ति।"
("When merit is exhausted, one falls again into the mortal world.")
The fire cracked softly, sending orange flickers across the stranger's still face.
Aarav sat with his back to the tree, knees drawn to his chest, eyes half-closed in a trance that wasn't sleep. The man still hadn't stirred. His breath was shallow, chest rising and falling like a dying tide.
The marks across his skin — strange spirals and faded symbols — seemed ancient, almost ritualistic. Some were fresh wounds, others older scars. Dried blood flaked around his temple. One shoulder was dislocated. Yet something in his stillness felt... deliberate, like a lion at rest, not a man broken.
Aarav had done what little he could — splinted the arm with tree branches, cleaned the cuts with water from the nearby spring, and packed wild leaves against the worst of them. He wasn't sure if any of it would help. But it was all he could offer.
He had also built a crude lean-to with sticks and thick banana leaves, anchoring one edge against the great banyan's trunk. The rains had threatened earlier, and the sky still hung low and grey. A soft wind stirred the air, carrying the scent of damp soil and ash.
Food had been harder.
Some foraged berries, raw roots, and a few half-burnt pieces of squirrel meat he had managed to trap and cook. He wasn't proud of it, but necessity demanded action. Aarav hadn't eaten properly in days, but still set aside the better portion for the stranger.
Now, the silence was sacred. No trial. No visions. No voice in his head. Just the rhythm of wind and flame.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching the man's face for any change.
None came.
But somehow… the air around them felt different — not heavy like grief, nor tense like danger. It felt like a pause in time. Like the forest itself was watching.
Aarav reached into his bag, pulled out the folded white cloth he had carried since Nalanda — now smudged and torn. He dipped it in spring water and gently dabbed the man's forehead again.
"You'll live," he murmured, unsure if it was true or if he needed someone to hear it.
Hours passed.
The fire had died to glowing embers. The forest had turned deep indigo.
Aarav sat upright when he heard it — the stranger's breath catching slightly. His eyelids fluttered.
Then… slowly, his head turned. Eyes — dark, sunken, but sharp — met Aarav's.
Aarav froze.
The man blinked. Once. Then again.
Finally, his cracked lips parted.
"...You… stayed," he whispered.
Aarav swallowed. "I… couldn't leave."
The man studied him for a long moment, then nodded faintly — as if confirming something to himself. Then, without another word, he closed his eyes again.
Sleep, or something deeper, took him.
But Aarav remained awake the rest of the night — staring into the silent flame, the weight of that one moment pressing down harder than any trial ever had.
✨ End of Chapter 12 ✨
Stay close. The path deepens from here..
Who is this stranger beneath the banyan tree?
What truths lie behind his silence… and what awaits Aarav as he chooses stillness over struggle?
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